


Curiosity

by Hankenstein



Series: OT3: Stretching Diplomatic Relations [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bull is possible OOC because gimme sweet service top Bull any goddamn day, F/F, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hankenstein/pseuds/Hankenstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curiosity killed the cat.</p><p>Inquisitor Adaar can't help but notice the look of curiosity on Josephine's face when the young woman walks in on her and Iron Bull. She's quick to invite her dear friend to come watch, next time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> I head canon Josie as being more into ladies than dudes, but still curious about them, especially if the man in question is a big beautiful kinky qunari.
> 
> There are no end game or even middle game spoilers in this, so you're safe to read if you haven't finished it or are worried about spoilers for individual character arcs.

It started with a note.

Well, it started long before that, Josephine’s tendency to flock like a duckling getting the better of her when she saw Cullen and Cassandra’s broad backs framed by a door. Her feet had taken her body off toward them without thinking, and whatever rationale had crossed her mind was lost in the sight that had met her on the other side of the door, over Cassandra’s sensibly-armoured shoulder.

Those same treacherous duckling feet had raised her up onto her toes, desperate to see just a little more of that expanse of silvery skin, of Adaar’s suddenly wry face, completely brazen in the face of the advisors’ intrusion. Josephine was not invited to see what she saw, and yet the utter ease with which both Iron Bull and Adaar returned the trios’ gaze, almost a challenge…

The ink was dry on Josephine’s quill when she next went to write with it. With a huff of exasperation, she went to re-dip it, nearly jumping out of her skin at the smooth voice saying her name.

“Lady Montilyet.” Josephine was glad her quill was dry, otherwise there would be a big long streak over her letter to Duke de Lydes. She hadn’t even heard the tall woman approach, so lost in thought she had been.

“In-inquisitor!” Josephine exclaimed, mortified to feel a blush rising in her cheeks. She willed it away with years of practiced control, but it was near thing, and just  _embarrassing_ to have it happen with the Inquisitor! Her friend!

Light curving off the slope of her shoulders, swell of her prodigious bosom, leaning with such casual ease over  _expanse_  of The Iron Bull’s body, and Josephine, fascinated, raising on her toes unwittingly, unable to tear her gaze away.

And it was because of that image that Josephine suddenly found herself at a loss for where to look, unable to meet the Inquisitor’s remarkable lavender eyes. Instead she focused on the points of her collarbones. It was easier on Josephine’s neck, anyway.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, my lady,” Adaar said, and Josephine was surely imagining the dry little twist to her words, eyes almost crinkling in a tease.

“No trouble at all, Inquisitor,” Josephine folded her hands, and allowed her eyes one single flick upward to Adaar’s, and yes, there was the gleam of a tease in them. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just double checking that you were on schedule for this afternoon’s meeting.” Adaar dropped her hands to the edge the wooden riser on Josephine’s desk, long fingers splayed out, and Josephine found herself wondering how a warrior like Adaar could keep hand hands… so… soft… looking.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” she replied in a rush.

Adaar inquired after the letter Josephine was writing. She asked the ambassador to bring the correspondence from the Viscount to the afternoon’s meeting, and as she did, her beautiful hands started to run slow scratches up the wood of Josephine’s desk. It was almost mesmerizing. There was nothing in the Inquistor’s… inquiries… that a runner couldn’t have delivered for her. As Josephine once more ripped her eyes from Adaar’s long fingers to her pale eyes, there was an undeniable feeling that they were talking about something else entirely.

“Anyway.” Adaar lifted her hands, delicately, and brushed her fingertips together, as though relishing the feeling of the polished wood. “I look forward to seeing you.” And there was that twinkle again, Adaar’s firm mouth barely twitching but her eyes practically  _dancing_ with mirth as she turned and walked away.

Josephine watched her leave, confused, the blush she’d kept down firmly creeping up again now that she was no longer being scrutinized so. She looked back down to her desk, and realized there was a piece of parchment, folded almost jauntily in a pyramid sitting atop her riser.

Curious, heart and fingertips pounding, she plucked the note off the desk, and opened it.

***

 _Dress comfortably,_ the note had said, in Adaar’s neat hand, and Josephine had done so. After bathing that evening, she set her usual daytime splendor aside for a long sleeved woollen dress in her favourite blue, and simple sleeveless tunic with just a touch of embroidery buttoned over the top. No cloth of gold to be seen. It fell just past her knees and whispered as she walked, suddenly shivering in the long hollow tower that lead to the Inquisitor’s quarters.

 _Come after dinner, the ninth bell,_ the note had said, and in deference to the Inquisitor’s schedule, Josephine could hear the echoes of said bell distantly as she raised her fist to knock.

The chill of the tower was swept away by the warmth of the fire in the Inquisitor's chamber as Adaar opened the door. With the broadest smile Josephine had ever seen on her face, the tall woman ushered her inside.

Adaar wore all the comfort of a woman in her quarters for the evening, light breeches and a loose shirt that draped like silk. Josephine had been in this room before, of course, when it was being refurbished for the Inquisitor’s quarters, but that was the impersonal experience of a room yet filled. It had been changed by the presence of an actual person living here, clutter on a desk in the corner, bright wall hangings, and personal choices such as the bed having been shifted out from the wall, allowing a person to walk a full circle around it.  Josephine glanced around the room, taking it in, and her eyes fell naturally to the Inquisitor's lover, leaning over the fire, poker in hand.

Bull’s chest was entirely bare, even of the harness he usually wore, and his wide belt was no where to be seen, the line of his trousers sitting just below the slight roundness of his belly. He was barefoot, just as the Inquisitor was.

More than the sight of the rope laid out over a bench, or something that looked like a leather strap next to it, or the sheen of Bull’s chest, it was the sight of his bare feet padding on the rich rug that made a tiny yet piercing voice inside her shout,  _by the Maker, what have you gotten yourself into._ She had seen his chest on numerous occasions, after all. But there was something intimate about seeing him without his boots, however strange that might have seemed.

Adaar must have sensed Josephine’s growing sense of flight or freeze, because she smoothed reassuring hands down the young woman’s shoulders, taking both hands in hers. Josephine had another hysterical moment of doubt when she noted how much larger even the female qunari’s hands were than hers.

“You’re here.” Adaar said, practically bouncing on her bare feet. “Which means you got my note.” She dropped Josephine’s hands suddenly, unable to stand still, so full of energy was she, and left Josephine hovering in the expanse of floor next to the bed. She walked over to her lover, skimming her hands over his shoulders, speaking as she went. “We sometimes do this somewhere else, but we thought you might be more comfortable here.”

Her speaking interrupted his quiet concentration. Bull glanced up from his preparation, and laid eyes on Josephine. He didn’t say a word, nor did his face show surprise, instead just a sly smile and a slight nod in her direction. He was expecting her, then, and Josephine suddenly realized, with a lurch of excitement, of self-consciousness, that her presence here was something they had discussed, the two of them, perhaps whilst they were naked and aglow the previous day.

 _Something tells me you like to watch_ , the note had said, and Josephine could have practically seen Adaar’s eyes crinkle as she read it, that way that the woman had of smiling without moving her mouth.

Josephine stayed frozen, midway between the door and the bed, not sure which way to jump. O _h, Maker, what am I doing here_ was a thought that felt tangible, washing back and forth in steady tides in her stomach.

Bull looked over at her again, standing from his crouch by the fire and turning. His gaze was measured, watchful, as he easily scooped up a wooden chair in one hand like it was nothing, and settled it next to Josephine. The wordless command was clear.

She sat.

Somewhere along the way Josephine found her voice, though didn’t exactly use it to great effect. Eyes on what could only be described as Bull’s workbench, she stammered, “I don’t know- I don’t know if I- um.”

Adaar fell to her knees in front of the chair, basically putting her eye-to-to eye with the young woman, and once again settled large hands, comforting, over Josephine’s shoulders.

Josephine stopped talking, and sucked in her breath sharply as Adaar leant forward, and carefully, kissed the corner of her mouth. It was a chaste, dry kiss, but Josephine could still feel the sensation of lips against hers, well after Adaar sat back on her haunches.

“I invited you here to watch. And that’s all you have to do. If you like.”

Josephine stared, wide eyed.

“We’ll just pretend you aren’t even here. The door is open, if you change your mind. It’s up to you. At your own pace, anytime.”

There was a rhythm, a smooth ease to Adaar’s words, and Josephine felt the liquid, sloshing anxiety in her stomach change to something more like excitement, though it was impossible to be sure. The diplomat nodded, firmly.

Adaar stood, seemingly, as promised, to forget about Josephine as she found her place standing before Iron Bull near the foot of the bed.

“Are you ready?” he asked, the first words he’d spoken.

“Yes,” she said simply.

Josephine wasn’t sure how she had expected things to begin, but what happened was… not it.

Bull, fingers large and deft, unbuttoned Adaar’s shirt and eased her out of it, tossing it aside seemingly carelessly It landed across an armchair in the corner. Her breeches followed, Bull kneeling before her to ease them over the swell of her hips. She stepped out of them, and Bull flung them over his shoulder where they landed perfectly atop her shirt.

She was wearing neither smalls nor a breast band beneath them, and Josephine marveled at her form. Her body was a soldiers’, all potential power and sloping muscle, a woman’s, and yes, a strange, magnificent creature of which Josephine had never seen the likes of before. Her proportions should have seemed wrong, limbs too long, curves too great, but in the light of the fire and candles, Josephine thought perhaps she’d never seen someone so beautiful.

Bull backed her, gently, ever so gently toward the bed. Her knees hit first, and she sat obediently, watching up at him with trusting eyes. He left her seated there momentarily, bare feet padding as he went to fetch a basin from near the fire. He walked with the slightest limp, Josie noted, before he returned, kneeling before her.

Josephine could just spy the stones in the bottom of the basin, meaning the water Bull dipped a washcloth in was warm, and that’s probably what he had been fussing over at the fire earlier.

He washed Adaar’s hands, one by one, wiping the sheen of water up her firmly muscled arms, and then her feet, his hands firm enough to have Adaar sigh ever so slightly in pleasure. It was awareness of the horns, surely, that kept his chin tilted ever so slightly upwards, leaving his eyes always lingering on her face as his hands worked.

Finished with the water, Bull set it aside, the whole thing just feeling so  _careful,_ so ritualistic to Josephine, as Bull encouraged Adaar’s body back onto the bed, hands gentle under one hip, turning her to lay flat on her belly.

He took one the small, rolled pillows, the kind that qunari with back swept horns like Adaar must sleep on, and tucked it beneath her hips, a simple touch on one buttock enough to have her raise her hips obediently to allow him to position it. Another went under her chest, just above her breasts, keeping both her chin and bosom from being crushed into the bed and allowing her to breathe easily whilst face down.

There was art, and forethought to it, Josephine realized as Bull picked up the four neatly bundled skeins of rope. It became abundantly clear why the bed had been pulled from the wall as Bull stood first at the head of the mattress, easily looping rope through the anchor points on the floor in each corner. ( _When did they have this installed?_ Josephine wondered very, very distantly). He took the Inquisitor’s hand in his, captured her wrist in the rope, pulling her arm out straight from her body, and fastening it. His deftness seemed entirely unaffected by the diminished state of one hand. He repeated the process with the other wrist, and efficiently but not hastily, continued in a circle to the base of the bed.

Josephine watched, in wonderment, at the complete trust on display here, as Bull skimmed fingers light but insistent down Adaar’s thigh, and she read the touch perfectly, shifting against her bonds to splay her legs out wide to each corner, where Iron Bull deftly tied each ankle.

The effect was literally breathtaking. Josephine had thought there was art in it, and she was right, the Inquisitor face down, ass slightly raised, the valley of her lower back somewhere a girl like Josephine could get lost. Adaar’s long limbs spread nearly to each corner of the bed, covering it completely, and the tension in her spread legs gave a slight tautness to the hard muscles of her thighs, her buttocks.

Josephine licked her lips.

The Iron Bull stepped back briefly, as if to admire his handiwork, his prize. Josephine did not know this man very well at all. If not time well spent with Adaar, quietly swapping stories and discussing politics, Josephine might have taken one look at his horns and thought of him as something fearsome. But the Qunari were not savages, not beasts.

That knowledge aside, there was something terrible and fascinating about Bull, this man whose skin smelt like leather and looked like silver, where it wasn’t slashed with prideful scars and dark ink. He was taller even than Adaar, and her form suddenly looked small beneath his hands as he ran his fingertips, four on one hand and two on the other, exploratory, down the line of her body. He dipped his palms into the curve of her lower back, running lightly over the peak of her ass, touch becoming mere trailing fingertips down her thighs. Josephine even thought she saw Adaar squirm an inch when those hands reached her vulnerable, upturned feet.

True to Adaar’s word, Bull completely ignored Josephine, in her chair scant feet away from the proceedings. He climbed atop the bed, only mildly creaking under his weight, kneeling between Adaar’s spread thighs. Josephine watched as his hands, their trailing tease abandoned, returned to Adaar’s rounded ass cheeks, this time  _squeezing,_ massaging, and Josephine couldn’t help but note that unlike Adaar’s well manicure nails, Bull had nails almost like talons, and tiny reddish marks raised in the skin of her ass almost immediately.

Was this love? Was this passion? She was no blushing virgin, but this certainly wasn’t anything that the young ambassador had ever seen before. She found herself leaning forward in her chair, a flush in her cheeks and heavy feeling between her legs, wondering what it would be like to be so exposed, to have her legs spread open and fastened there, calloused hands on the soft skin of her behind.

Josephine almost flinched when Bull raised one huge palm, and brought it down with a rounded  _smack_. There was no weight to the blow, barely more than gravity effecting the force, and he did it again, almost immediately, bringing his hand up and letting it fall, firm but not forceful, against Adaar’s ass.

He shifted, bringing his other hand to bear, three sharp blows,  _smack smack smack,_ against the other cheek, and Josephine found herself breathing in sharply with each one.

Tension rippled throughout the Inquisitor’s gloriously muscular back. The arc in her spine became even more pronounced, face pressed into the bed as her hips lifted ever so slightly off the pillow below them, a clear invitation, a wanton begging.

Bull made a noise, a grunt of approval that made the heavy feeling between Josephine’s legs pulse pleasantly, and this time he looked at her, just a little sidelong glance, as if to say  _are you watching this? Are you seeing me?_ She was, and she did, and maybe she licked her lips again a little as Iron Bull settled back on his haunches between Adaar’s, getting comfortable for what was to come.

Bull proceeded to spank the Inquisitor, blows steady and firm on the vulnerable skin of her ass, at first like a heartbeat, regular, hypnotic. There was a flow, the volume and speed increasing like the swell of a wave, and just when Josephine was sure the wave, the Inquisitor, would break, he would switch to the other cheek, giving it the same thorough treatment.

Josephine could see the tension in Adaar’s back and thighs, rippling and growing taut at the crest of each wave as he pushed, then releasing as he turned his attention to the other cheek. Sometimes his blows strayed a little, down the sides of her thighs, closer to her centre, but always returning like the tide to the one spot on each cheek, and always the same noise, the pulse of each impact throbbing in Josephine’s ears, reverberating down and between her legs.

Adaar’s skin, with its silvery sheen, didn’t quite go red but instead almost purpling under the blows, the roundness of each buttock high with colour. Bull’s flow pushed the colour higher, and for the first time Josephine heard a little gasp, a shocked sob from Adaar’s mouth, muffled by the pillow.

But Bull didn’t stop. He didn’t stop, blows more impassioned now, tide rising higher, until Adaar was gasping ever so slightly with every spank, breathing wet and rough into the fabric beneath her face. The tension in her thighs and back was a constant now as her alternated one side to the other, no room for the ebb and flow that he allowed her previously, and Josephine didn’t realise, but she was as far forward in her seat as she could go without falling, breathing tight and fast with each smack, unconsciously timed with each wet gasp of her friend beneath Bull’s steady hands.

Adaar’s thighs were trembling, the arc of her back becoming steadily shallower as she stopped pushing her ass up into the air, instead slightly shying away from those huge hands, tension in her shoulders mounting as she pulled against her restraints. Her feet flexed and pointed rhythmically. She was gasping, and then actively squirming, as much as she could against her bonds, and still that steady throb, that now rapid heartbeat of blows still filling the room.

“Just a few more, Kadan,” Bull said, the inflection flat, not a question but a demand, and Adaar  _keened_ against the mattress, no words but the vague echo of assent in the sound. Josephine noted the tension, the rippling coil of power through Bull’s chest as he delivered the last four blows, two each cheek, more power in them than Josephine would have thought Adaar could take. _Smack smack, SMACK SMACK._

She collapsed into her bonds as Bull ceased, and he let his huge hands cover her abused flesh, just resting atop her buttocks. One hand slid lower, slipping between her cheeks, thumb running slick and easy between her lips.

He glanced again at Josephine, that same quick and sly look, and what he must have seen there would make Josephine flush from eyebrows to nipples thinking of it in the days to come.

She might not have realized it, but with her ass all the way forward on her seat, she was practically  _levitating_ out of it in her arousal, her desperation to stand. But what she was waiting for to broach that last barrier, for her bottom to leave that wooden chair, was  _permission._

And Bull must have seen that in his single glance, seen  _her,_ because he clambered awkwardly back off the bed, and gesturing in invitation, murmured, “Touch her, please.” In this moment, Adaar belonged more to Bull than she did to herself, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for him to offer her like this, as though this permission was rightfully his to give.

Josephine expected to go shooting out of her chair like a released trebuchet, but when she stood she found her words and her feet unsteady below her.

“I’m not- I can’t- like you would,” she stammered hopelessly, because what on Earth could her hands be to Adaar after  _that?_

And Bull, the huge, intoxicating, fascinating man, smiled knowingly at her. “Not asking you to help swing a whip, little bird. Just touch her.”

Now the roles were reserved, Bull watching  _her_ as he unconsciously rubbed the warm palms of his hands against one another.

The bed might have been the right size for Bull to just lean over and reach the woman tied captive to it, but Josephine was not a long limbed Qunari. So she toed off her slippers, and climbed onto it carefully, not taking the position Bull had been in, between her legs, but rather to once side, in the triangle formed by one outstretched arm and leg.

Adaar breathing was slow and measured. She didn’t shift, or acknowledge the new presence by her side, face down on the bed and clearly somewhere very far away. Josephine’s nerves were alight, but this was so simple, wasn’t it? Just a touch. She followed Bull’s path, pressing an uncertain hand to the warm and solid skin between Adaar’s shoulders, and ran a hand down the curve of her spine.

Adaar sighed at the gentleness of the touch. When Josephine reached the swell of her ass, she paused. She hovered her hand over the skin there, purpling and raised from the spanking, little nicks in the skin from Bull’s callouses. Josephine could feel the heat radiating from it, flesh overly sensitized, singing. Josephine had a sudden and absurd thought that it was good for Adaar that they stood rather than sat around the War Table.  Lip twitching at herself, she lay her hands, soft, so soft, over Adaar’s heated flesh.

Adaar’s breath hitched, and that so gentle a touch could cause such a reaction showed exactly how sensitive it was. It wasn’t just warm but hot to touch, little raised welts texturing her smooth buttocks. Was  _this_ love? Josephine asked herself, tracing one welt with a curious finger. It was certainly something.

Her reverie was interrupted by Bull, efficiently unlacing the ropes from around the choke point of Adaar’s ankles. Catching her eyes again with ease, he spoke. “Loosen her hands, would you?”

It certainly wasn’t that Bull couldn’t do it himself, and surely with more speed that Josephine’s shaking fingers. It was more that now she was here, on the bed, and perhaps he could see in her eyes that she was steadily wanting more.

Josephine reached for the knot encircling Adaar’s wrists, but hers were not the hands that tied it, and her fingers couldn’t seem to make sense of what was happening. Tension overcame her. She hated this, to have been invited here and to be so  _bad_ at it, and the tension slipped into her hands, and suddenly she was shaking worse than ever.

Bull appeared at the head of the bed, hands gentle over hers, the first time she’d been touched by him, and she must have jumped, because his soothing grip softened and he said, “Is this ok?” without a hint of tease or disingenuousness to it.

“I- yes,” she replied, voice low.

He guided her hands to untie Adaar’s wrist, then helped her off the bed and watched as Josephine stood at the head of the bed and loosened off the other.

“Good,” he rumbled, from behind her, and Josephine half expected him to touch her again, half  _wanted_ him to do so, but apparently his guiding hands on hers was all he’d sought permission for, and all he’d felt he’d received.

Adaar did nothing with her new freedom, still prone and sprawled on the bed, and without thinking, Josephine found herself on her knees, head level with the freed woman, and ran her hands over Adaar’s backswept horns. She didn’t know what to expect them to feel like, but they were warm beneath her hands, like flesh turned to wood. She’d never seen the Inquisitor like this, and never expected to; even that glimpse Josephine had been given of Bull and Adaar together hadn’t been like this. Adaar had been forward, and bold, not this sighing, desperate mess.

It was exhilarating.

Bull moved back behind Adaar, flanking her, leaving Josephine kneeling near Adaar’s face. Eyes on the slope of Adaar’s neck, Josephine heard rather than saw Bull undo and step out of his trousers, no doubt flung onto the same organized pile of clothes.

He knelt back on the bed, and with firm hands in the corners of her hips, encouraged the Inquisitor to kneel. She sluggishly brought her elbows under herself for support. She looked up for the first time, meeting Josephine’s eyes. There was something slippery and distant in those eyes, almost glassy, and Adaar dragged up a drunk-looking smile for Josephine.

The young woman was captivated by that smile, and breathless as Adaar’s eyes fluttered shut, breath stuttering. Josephine could see that Bull was working his hand between Adaar’s legs, view obstructed by the Inquisitor’s body.

Bull made another of those approving noises at what he’d found there, the sound that made Josephine’s body ache and nipples tighten. She had no idea who she wanted to be here; the Inquisitor, unbound but liquid, or the mercenary, powerful with a seeking hand between the Inquisitor’s legs.

“Mmm. What do you want?” he asked softly, hand still moving steadily.

The question was not for Josephine, and she watched as the Inquisitor struggled back up to the surface to speak. “I want… uh-”

“What was that?” he asked again, voice softer but somehow more dangerous.

Adaar look beautiful, flushed and desperate, and Josephine felt her heart swoop as the qunari managed to meet the young woman’s eyes, and choke out. “I want you to fuck me.”

That was how Josephine ended up kissing the unbound Inquisitor, and catching the gasp from her mouth as Bull entered her, feeling the impact of Bull’s hips against Adaar’s ass transferred into the light push of Adaar’s mouth into her own.

Adaar kissed her, open mouthed and ravenous, as though she’d been waiting for this a long time. Bull thrust into her, slowly at first, hands biting into the corners of her hips.

Josephine kissed back, tongue slipping into Adaar’s open mouth, tasting spice and fire, finding her hands on the warm roughness of her horns again, holding the Inquisitor’s mouth steady against her own with a firmness Josephine hadn’t known she’d possessed.

When Bull’s fervour increased by a measure, hips snapping forward sharply, Adaar gasped at the impact on her sensitized ass, breath hot on Josephine’s lips. Josephine reluctantly rocked back, taking her mouth away, hands dropping to grip Adaar’s crossed wrists, holding her steady, holding her firm, feeling the vibration of each drive of Bull’s thrusts through her hands.

It was brutal, and delicious, and as Bull’s breath started to catch, little grunts of effort, of pleasure torn from him, Adaar sealed her mouth to Josephine’s again, not caring about the roughness of it, the messy risk of teeth clashing. She was panting, whimpering, and Josephine, despite being fully clothed and untouched, found herself panting along with her.

When Bull came, silent but for a rough whoosh of breath, Adaar bit Josephine’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Bull leant his body over the curve of Adaar’s back, catching his weight with one hand. Josephine jerked her head back to avoid being smacked over the head with horns.  _That_ was a hazard she’d never thought she’d have to deal with in the bedroom.

She got to her feet, and she was still aching, her nipples tight and crotch throbbing in time with the small wound in her lip. Adaar glanced up at her, a lopsided and pleasure-drunk smile on her face.

Bull turned dark eyes to her, and the possibility written clear in the two sets of eyes took what was left of her breath away.

“I- I have to go,” she blurted, taking an unsteady step backwards.

She didn’t even wait for their response as she turned and fled the room.

Bull let his cock slip out, and collapsed beside the limp Inquisitor.

“Do you think we scared the little bird?” Bull asked, a smirk on his lips.

“We definitely scared her.” Adaar could barely open her eyes. “And she’ll absolutely come back for more.” It had been so erotic, and yes, romantic, kissing into Josephine’s full lips as Bull fucked her. She could get used to being surrounded just so.

Josephine barely stopped to breathe until she was back in her quarters, crossing the Main Hall with rushed steps. She’d nodded hello to one of the guards posted there, and she’d been certain he’d given her an odd look as he’d nodded back with a polite, “M’lady.”

Her face flushed as she thought about it, thought about  _them,_ climbing a short set of stairs to her room. She ached with desire, but with heady fear too, of what it would have felt like to be the Inquisitor, to so readily relinquish herself to another’s hands.

Shutting the door behind her, finally taking a slow, steadying breath, she looked down and realized she’d left her slippers in the Inquisitor's room, and had made it all the way back here in her stocking’ed feet.

She let out a shaky, exhilarated laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my self indulgent smut. [ Commander Diomika ](http://commander-diomika.tumblr.com/) for more Dragon Age romance garbage and talking about masturbation.


End file.
